Not So Terrible
by Val-Creative
Summary: Of course Klaus doesn't listen. He never does. Klaus could be told eating his favorite brand of peanut butter kickstarts a major global catastrophe and he would order twenty more dark blue jars of Extra Crunchy JIF. Because, really, there is no time like the present.


**.**

**.**

"We're gonna get murdered for this…" Ben mutters.

He peers out of Klaus's bedroom window, grimacing. A long and steep drop right onto the concrete.

If they're lucky, by some chance, maybe the twin-sized, quilted bedsheets knotted together _won't_ unravel. Ben would even take, y'know, someone passing by and cushioning their fall.

Klaus blows air between his lips noisily. He secures the last bedsheet around the gilded, rattling leg of his cot.

"_Or_—" Klaus speaks up, clapping his hands and beaming, "—we're gonna _live_ for once!" His light green eyes full of that mischievous, confident light. Klaus has been like this ever since Ben has known him.

Which is since forever.

Nothing ever deterred Klaus from something when he set his mind to it. He should be using that motivation for training with his powers, but in a way, Ben doesn't care if Klaus gets better at talking with the dead or not.

(Who _wants_ to be haunted all of the time? And who the fuck _wants_ to summon monsters either?)

Ben straightens up, making a low, exasperated grunt. He's fourteen and hates every part of his body since puberty hit him. Especially the part that opens up like a new dimension for huge, blood-curdling creatures.

"_Awh~_!" Klaus croons out softly, tapping under Ben's chin with the side of his finger. "Buck up, kiddo!"

"Touch me again, dude, and I'll break your friggin' hand…"

Of course he doesn't listen. Klaus never does. Klaus could be told that eating his favorite brand of peanut butter kickstarts a major global catastrophe and he would order twenty more dark blue jars of Extra Crunchy JIF. Because, really, there's no time like the present.

Ben's mouth twitches into a fierce, growing smile as Klaus reaches out to flick his nose, screeching out and laughing when Ben chases him around the room. He grabs the back of Klaus's woolen vest, yanking him in. They dissolve into more belly-aching laughter, wrestling and smacking each other in the face, groaning.

He has one of Klaus's arms pinned behind him, shoving Klaus's head down and forward. The other teenager yelps, resisting manhandling when Sir Reginald appears in the doorway, turning a nasty shade of purplish-red.

"What sort of _TOMFOOLERY_ is this!?" he bellows.

Ben immediately lets go, shrinking and draining of color under the wrathful gaze. Klaus stumbles against his desk, mumbling and rubbing his nape, looking away from everybody else.

"_OUT_! Everyone _OUT_!" Sir Reginald hollers, rapping his polished, black walking-stick against the floorboards twice. Ben winces at the sound instinctively, all too familiar with his adoptive guardian's beloved object. And how much it fuckin' hurt when it cracked against Ben's wrists and forearms.

(Discipline discipline discipline.)

Mom waits patiently for Ben to walk alongside her, leaving Sir Reginald to box Klaus's ear and scold him repeatedly, guiding them down the opposite end of the corridor. Ben takes a moment and chances peeking over his shoulder.

Klaus happens to do the same, his green eyes lighting up once more. He presents out a middle finger, blowing a kiss with it.

Ben side-eyes Mom who keeps walking on, staring right ahead with a perfunctory smile. He then turns with a flourish, drawing up his arm to his head and holding out his other arm in front of him, double-flipping off Klaus in the distance. Ben wiggles his outstretched middle finger in a 'come at me' gesture. Klaus turns around mid-stride, exaggerating licking both of his middle fingers, smoothing his eyebrows.

The gleeful _look_ on Klaus's face makes Ben snicker. He pretends to crank one of his hands, like a jack-in-the-box, lifting his middle finger slowly until Sir Reginald lightly wacks Klaus's ankle, glancing over to Ben.

He drops his arms, wide-eyed, fleeing back to Mom's side.

**.**

**.**

Pogo notices the collection of white, laundered bedsheets tied together and flapping outside Klaus's bedroom window, but apparently says nothing to anyone.

They try for the front door this time.

Ben finds it unlocked. His pulse _flies_ — just like his feet do, when he and Klaus race out into the sunshine.

They can go anywhere, do anything.

Be _anyone_.

For the moment, Ben forgets about the consequences. No matter how severe they're gonna be.

Klaus seeks out the nearest random stranger, asking about fast food joints and where to get a bus schedule. He dances along to a guitar being played by a homeless man, shimmying his Umbrella Academy's blazer down to his elbows, closing his eyes and swaying by himself, zoning out. Ben watches him guardedly from the sidewalk, leaning against a brick wall and crossing his arms, shaking his head.

He's a kind of enthusiasm seems so… _infectious_. Hell of a lot better than seeing what happens to Klaus after being forced into the mausoleum.

The homeless guy offers them a few crumpled dollar bills, so they can eat, after Klaus explains tearfully they "ran away" (putting on a good show) and Ben politely refuses. A cheerful Klaus accepts the money, tossing a solid gold pen he hijacked from Sir Reginald's waistcoat into the guitar-case.

Ben takes his first bite of a bacon-covered cheddar cheese dog. Its hot, gooey, artificially yellow innards _delicious_. He says nothing when Klaus steals a Walkman left on a picnic table, a yard or so from Merry Malcolm's food-wagon.

The park-bench is uncomfortable, but Ben feels _good_.

Just him and Klaus, sharing a hot dog and a large, ice-filled Coke, sharing the Walkman's earbuds — Ben's right ear and Klaus's left ear. It must be a CD burned with different songs because the music goes from Radiohead to Madonna's sultry, soft-straining voice.

Klaus attempts to mouth along to 'Like a Prayer' and gazes at Ben, chewing on his bottom lip and fidgeting with his dark knee-sock. He hasn't seen Klaus _nervous_ like this.

Ben has never felt this free… _alive_… before.

They're already in deep shit, and Ben goes for his most secret want, pressing his lips over Klaus's cheddar-gooey mouth.

The confused, semi-intrigued noise escaping Klaus vanishes when he exhales through his nostrils, leaning further into Ben and pushing his fingers into Ben's hair, gripping on. Klaus's skin feels wind-chapped and heated, when the kiss opens, and Ben's tongue slides hesitantly over the other teenager's lips.

A bee drifts into their airspace. Klaus pulls out of the kiss, waving a hand and swearing, and the little, angry bee lands on Ben's jaw, digging its stinger in. Most of what Ben remembers is screaming and a whiteout, burning pain.

Klaus's panic.

Klaus _always_ blames himself somehow even if he distances himself. For the emotional rift with their team, for not defending Vanya, for Ben's serious allergic reaction to the bee-sting. For becoming a drug addict to escape the torment of his powerful, unwanted superpower.

For Ben's death when they're old enough to know better than to go _rogue_.

**.**

**.**

It's not so terrible. Being a mostly corporal spirit.

_(Not-spirit?)_

Ben isn't entirely sure at this point.

He would definitely rather have a pulse, and be able to travel around without Klaus whining in his ear, but… …

It's not… _terrible_, he repeats to himself stubbornly. Just a big inconvenience.

Like having to watch Klaus shuddering violently on the living room's chaise, down to only his underwear again. His arms wrapped tightly around himself. Pale skin drenched in glistening sweat. Ben knows Klaus has been clean for nearly eight days in a row, but his weakened immune system can barely handle a _fever_ like this.

Klaus's eyes crack open.

"_Bees_…" he murmurs.

Ben frowns, vaguely remembering Klaus nicknaming him that after Ben got stung. A little bit cruel due to the fact that Ben nearly had his throat close up, but Klaus's sense of humor gets… _weird_.

(Morbid.)

"How's it going?" Ben asks, sitting cross-legged by the pearl-and-scarlet chaise. He ignores the gross, loud hacking. Like Klaus can't get the thickened mucus out of his lungs. There's been worse between them. Klaus pissed himself while higher than shit. Ben once projectile-vomited all over Klaus's costume and his shoes, on their way home from a mission as kids, sickened by all of the noxious, rotting gore and streaks of filthy blood crusting on Ben's hands.

"_Mm_…" Klaus inhales, his arm-muscles clenching. His green eyes rolling shut. "_Everything's achy, Bees_…"

"Just get some rest. You'll feel better in the morning."

Ben glances around for a blanket, and then remembers he couldn't even pick it up if he wanted to. A long, tired sigh. Klaus is usually the one who gives him a boost, to help Ben move things around or be able to touch someone.

(Is it too much to ask to do _something_ on his own?)

Concentrating himself this time, Ben pushes whatever energy clinging to him into his dominant hand, feeling over warm, _firm_ cheek as he rests his palm to the side of Klaus's face. "_You feel so good_…" Klaus whispers, his eyelids quivering.

Ben snorts, finally smiling, his neon blue-glowing thumb grazing over Klaus's facial hair.

"You too…"

**.**

**.**

* * *

_The Umbrella Academy isn't mine. MMM I LOVE THEM. I'M WEAK. THANKS FOR READING MY GARBAGE. ANY COMMENTS/THOUGHTS ARE DEEPLY APPRECIATED. If you are from the server, hey, ily. Drink your water. Be the absolute most and don't let people tell you what to do. You are the best._


End file.
